


The Shadow of Your Heart

by BarlowGirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because Derek is stupid, Consider this post-Season 2 finale, Derek POV, Kate Argent Warning, Kelpies, M/M, See the notes for details on consent issues, Some scenes that could be read as dubious consent, Stiles is 17 in this and Derek is 22 because I have head-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarlowGirl/pseuds/BarlowGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles slumped against the wall. “Barely. And you owe me. You owe me like crazy.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Derek stretched his leg under the table, testing for twinges and aches. It seemed alright for his kneecap having been shattered by a wolfsbane bullet a few hours ago. Yeah, he could do this. Stiles was right. Derek owed him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He stood up and walked towards Stiles, letting a bit of predator into his movements.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Sometimes the chase was almost as fun as the reward. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This is gonna be a little long, scroll past it if you want.)
> 
> A while ago, I had a conversation with... possibly myself, I can't remember, about how the only times on Teen Wolf that we really see Derek be sexual (and not just sexy) is when he's using it to get something. There's the cop at the station that he flirts with, Erica, even to some extent, you could argue Allison at the party at the beginning of the series.
> 
> I started thinking about the fact that basically he was taught that that _worked_ when he was a teenager and naive and inexperienced and then I made myself really SAD and then this happened.
> 
> Anyways, here be trigger warnings. I figured I'd tag to be safe but basically Derek tries to pull that kind of thing on Stiles and Stiles shuts him down. Nothing goes really past kissing, but, you know, I'd rather over-warn than under, so.
> 
> (Last paragraph, I promise!) This is completely finished on my computer, but I don't know how fast people like things to be posted? So, yeah. Also feel free to point out mistakes because I don't have a beta for this stuff and... enjoy!

Derek could hear the kid’s heart racing like it was trying to beat its way right out his chest. He smelled like sweat and dirt and blood and Derek just hoped most of it wasn’t Stiles’. There was too much on both of them, all around them all, for him to be able to tell anymore.

Stiles’ fingers were clenched around Derek’s wrist, slippery with blood as he tugged at the werewolf. “Come on, come on. I need to… come on.”

“Stiles.” He caught the kid by the shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Stiles’ eyes flashed hot and angry. “They have my _dad,_ Derek.”

The kid was going to get himself killed. He was going to get himself ripped to shreds because he had absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

Derek deliberately let his eyes turn red. “Stiles–”

“No,” the kid said. “Now get out of my way or I swear–”

He grabbed Stiles, a hand on either side of his neck, thumbs against his jaw. “For God’s sake, Stiles, if you get yourself killed, I’ll murder you.”

The kid laughed, harsh and not even close to his normal laugh, but for a moment, his mouth went pretty and soft and – hell with it. Derek was probably going to die tonight anyways.

So he kissed Stiles and his pretty mouth. Kissed him soft, for a moment, because Stiles was seventeen – _seventeen_ – and on the off chance that this was any sort of first for him, he shouldn’t remember somebody being rough with him.

Derek knew better than anyone that the memories of firsts never left you.

Then Stiles groaned, slippery fingers clenching tight around Derek’s wrist, and his mouth opened just a little against Derek’s.

For a moment, Derek almost wanted to smile. _Knew you wanted to,_ he thought, gently sucking on Stiles’ bottom lip because he couldn’t help himself. _Knew you needed this, too._

He pulled away, absently noting and liking how red and kiss-swollen Stiles’ mouth was. Then he tightened his grip on the kid’s jaw and smacked his head into the wall behind him.

He let himself wince when Stiles went limp against him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, letting the kid’s body slump against his, taking his weight easily. “You can hate me later.”

 

 

“I am going to kill you.” Stiles scrubbed his hands over his hair, pacing in front of the fridge. “I’m going to kill you dead. What were you thinking _,_ Derek? My dad could have died. _You_ could have died. And God _damnit,_ my head hurts. What is it with you werewolves and trying to give me concussions?”

Sudden anger stirred inside Derek, hot like fur against skin on a winter night, hot like flames eating him from the inside out. And – what the hell? Anchor or not, this flare of it made no sense.

“Maybe,” he said, taking a breath. “Maybe you should sit down, then.”

“Fuck the hell off,” Stiles muttered. “I’m too wound up to sit. My adrenaline never crashes that fast.” The kid pressed long fingers against his eyes. “Was it worth it for you?”

Derek frowned. “What?”

“You almost died. You probably would have if it wasn’t for me and Deaton. Boyd almost lost his leg. Mrs. McCall freaked out over me because her kid has super-healing and I have a head injury and a five inch gash in my side.” Stiles swallowed. “My dad has a broken arm. My dad was _hurt_. He’s the only family I have left, do you get that?”

“Stiles, your father is the sheriff.” It didn’t sound right when he says it out loud. He didn’t mean that Stiles should expect his father to die just because he was the sheriff, just that… he’d pretty much resigned himself to the idea that Sheriff Stilinski would find out about werewolves eventually. With his kid so involved, how could he not?

“I know that.” Stiles shot a glare at Derek as he paced back and forth. “You think I don’t think about meth addicts with guns, or bar fights, or, hell, car crashes? But fucking werewolves wasn’t something I worried would kill my father one day! So was it worth it for you?”

“We’re all alive, aren’t we?”

Stiles slumped against the wall. “Barely. And you owe me. You owe me like crazy.”

Derek stretched his leg under the table, testing for twinges and aches. It seemed alright for his kneecap having been shattered by a wolfsbane bullet a few hours ago. Yeah, he could do this. Stiles was right. Derek owed him.

He stood up and walked towards Stiles, letting a bit of predator into his movements.

Sometimes the chase was almost as fun as the reward. And he’d even he’d admit to himself how much he enjoyed the way Stiles’ heart raced the closer Derek got, how his breath hitched when Derek pressed his hands to the wall on either side of Stiles’ hips, how his cheeks flushed so prettily when Derek closed the distance between them.

“Derek?”

“How’s your head?” he asked, running a gentle palm over the soft fuzz of Stiles’ hair. “Got a bit of a goose egg there.”

“Well.” Stiles flicked his tongue across his lower lip. “You did slam my head into a brick wall. You need new hobbies, dude.”

He palmed the base of Stiles’ skull, tilting the kid’s head to the side. “Could always make it up to you. Burn off some of that adrenaline you have,” he said and leaned in to flick his tongue along the curve of Stiles’ ear.

When Stiles’ pulse spiked and his scent went thick with pheromones, Derek let his mouth move lower. He pressed his lips to the racing pulse in Stiles’ throat, letting himself flick his tongue over sweet, soft skin.

“What are you doing?” Stiles whispered.

Derek shrugged, tugging Stiles’ shirt over to taste his collarbone. “Whatever you want me to do. Do you want to fuck my hand, Stiles?” he asked, brushing his mouth against the delicate skin stretched over the bone. “Or my mouth? Or do you want me to bend you over your bed and fuck you until you forget where I end and you begin?”

He ran his hand up Stiles’ side and bit down on his shoulder, closing his teeth hard enough to leave a mark that’d last before letting go. He wanted to leave his marks on the boy, wanted them to stay for days. “I owe you, don’t I? So what are you collecting?”

Every muscle in the kid’s body went stiff. His hands came up and shoved at Derek’s chest, hard. “Stop.”

Derek lifted his head. “What?”

“No. This is not happening.”

Right. Derek stepped away as quickly as he could without stumbling. He got it. Stiles didn’t want him. Got turned on by him, sure. But arousal was… hell, Stiles could probably get aroused by a well-shaped table leg.

But wanting him, wanting _Derek_ , and not just the nearest warm body, that was a different thing entirely. Honestly, he couldn't blame the kid.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of one of the chairs. “Sorry,” he said without looking at Stiles. “Won’t happen again. Get some sleep.”

“Derek.” Stiles’ voice stopped him a few feet from the back door, but he didn’t turn. “I didn’t say you had to leave.”

He hesitated for a moment, hand on the doorknob.

“But that is never how it’s going to work. You will never, ever owe me sex for anything. Ever.” Stiles’ heart gave a loud, heavy beat. “You don’t owe _anybody_ sex, Derek. If you want me, for real, that… I want you. Derek Hale, grumpy werewolf extraordinaire. And…” He swallowed. “And I’m not interested in having sex with Kate Argent.”

The doorknob creaked under his hand. He cursed and let it go before it dented, then directed his words over his shoulder without looking. “Who told you?”

“Nobody. I read the fire case file – and don’t ever tell my dad that because it’s like a felony or something. Did you know he was investigating it again before Peter killed her?”

Derek shook his head.

“Between that and what Scott told me about her… she gave him a weird feeling. Not just hunter weird. He said she kept talking about his big brown eyes. Freaked him out.”

_I don’t know whether to kill it or lick it._

Derek shuddered and jerked around. “Maybe you’re too smart for your own good, Stiles.”

“So people tell me.” Stiles offered a wry grin. “Been useful so far, though.”

“Are you done? Can I leave now?”

Stiles shrugged. “If you need to go, the door’s open. But you can still stay if you want. We could watch some movies, order a pizza, and then you could watch me pass out in a no doubt undignified manner.”

Derek shoved his fingers through his hair. “What do you think this is, Stiles? Do you think we’re going to be buddies? That we’re going to date? Or do you think I’m going to fall madly in love with you and you’re going to fix me?”

“God, no,” Stiles said bluntly. “I’m not a therapist. I can’t fix you and I’m not offering to try. But your living conditions suck and I’m not really feeling being alone right now. What I am offering is pizza and a movie or four in a house with a roof. And,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically, “the fine company of one Stiles Stilinski.”

“Fine,” Derek snapped. “But no weird ass topping combinations.”

“Pepperoni and cheese it is.”

 

 

Isaac’s heartbeat woke Derek out of his usual restless sleep. He listened to the soft, desperate gasps and whimpers for a long moment, hands clenching uselessly into fists in his sheets. Sometimes the nightmares embarrassed Isaac, although they shouldn’t, and he didn’t want Derek anywhere near him then. And Derek didn’t like to go into Isaac’s space without permission.

He wouldn’t admit his own relief when soft footsteps padded to a stop outside his door.

“You can come in if you want,” he said before Isaac could ask.

A moment later, the pup crawled in next to him. _Boy,_ Derek thought irritably at himself. Not pup, not cub, boy. No matter how much the smell of hurt, fear, tears, made his stupid instincts whine in his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Isaac shook his head, silently reaching over to twist his fingers in Derek’s shirt.

“Okay.” Derek tugged him closer gently, always careful to keep him hands light enough that Isaac could pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t want to be the monster in Isaac’s closet if he could help it. “Think you can sleep now?”

Isaac sighed, the tension slowly melting out of his muscles the more he touched his alpha. “Yeah. I just… bad night. I had a brother.”

Derek rubbed his chin over the top of Isaac’s head. For a moment, Isaac’s soft curls remind him painfully of the baby who never got the chance to grow out of them. He swallowed, hard. “I had sisters.”

 

 

He didn’t know what he was doing here. Derek rubbed his hands over his face. This was stupid. There was no reason for him to be here. Sheriff Stilinski would be home tomorrow. He didn’t _need_ to be here.

Not even if he’d overheard Scott telling Isaac that Stiles was barely sleeping from anxiety, from worrying that something would happen to his dad.

“Allison,” Stiles’ voice said from around the corner and down the hall and Derek jumped like he’d been caught doing something more illegal than this actually was. “I appreciate you visiting my dad. I do. It’s nice of you. But we’re not having this conversation right now.”

Derek tilted his head to focus enough to hear Allison’s reply. Her voice was harder to pick up than Stiles’ when he wasn’t thinking about it. Which was a fact he was not going to examine too closely.

“Stiles–”

“No. Allison, you make Scott happy and that’s awesome. I’m happy for both of you that you’re working on things. But I’m not ready to be friends with you again yet, okay? You went crazy and _shot our classmates_.”

Derek could practically smell the hurt radiating from the girl.

“Stiles, Derek killed my mother. I–”

“No, Derek bit your mother,” Stiles snapped. “Your mother killed herself. She left you alone rather than become the same thing the boy you _love_ is. Allison, you ever wonder where my mother is?”

Derek jerked, his stomach clenching. He knew how this ended.

“You ever wonder where Sara Stilinski, used to teach kindergarten, made the best chicken noodle soup, swore like a sailor when she gardened because she could never get tomatoes to grow and something always ate her strawberries, is?” The kid swallowed, his voice going rough. “’Cause the answer to that is that she’s buried thirty feet from Derek Hale’s mother.”

How did the kid _know_ that?

“And that’s my family’s fault,” Allison’s hollow voice said.

“It’s Kate’s fault. Do you get that going after Erica and Boyd is exactly the same as if Derek had tried to kill you when Kate set his fucking family on fire?”

“I was twelve. I didn’t–”

“Yeah, and Derek’s sister was seven. She was in second grade. My _mother_ taught her. His cousin was two, Allison. A baby. Derek, he was freaking fifteen. You knew what Kate did, but you didn’t think something was wrong about kidnapping your classmates with your psychotic grandfather?”

A hand touched Derek’s arm and he jolted again. Damn it, it wasn’t his day.

Scott dropped his hand. “You okay? You look like a kid listening to Mom and Dad fight.”

Derek pressed his back harder against the wall. “Gonna go rescue her?”

“No.” Scott ran his fingers though his hair. “I love her, but what she did was wrong and sometimes she’s going to have to hear about it. She’s strong. She can handle it. She doesn’t need me to rescue her.”

“Yeah, I know, I get it,” Stiles’ voice said from around the corner. “You were wrapped up in your grief, yada yada. I got that real well when your grandfather was beating the crap out of me in your basement while you were upstairs planning nice little murders.”

Stiles made a frustrated noise and Derek pictured him running his hands over his head. “Look. You’re probably Scott’s soulmate or something and I’m not going to get in the way of that. I want him to be happy. But you and me, we’re not going to be friends right now and you’re gonna have to get used to that. I’m gonna go find Scott.”

Scott dug through his jean pockets and came up with a handful of change. He plugged some into the vending machine Derek was definitely not hiding behind, pressed a few buttons, then shoved a pack of peanut butter cups into Derek’s hand.

“He hates the hospital,” Scott said quietly as Stiles’ footsteps got closer. “Do you want to drive him home? I drove them both here and they could probably use some space from each other.”

Derek frowned at the chocolate in his hands. “Alright.”

Stiles came around the corner, swiping at too-bright eyes before he saw them and jumped. “Oh my God, group lurking is so not cool. I swear I’m going to buy you people those collars with bells on they make for cats.” He glanced at Scott. “How much of that did you hear?”

Scott stepped forward and pulled Stiles into a hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t come find you that night.”

Derek watched as Stiles’ face went from shocked and confused to tired and vaguely pained. _I was a message,_ Stiles had said the only time Derek asked. _For Scott. He let me go as a message. I didn’t deliver it._

“Yeah,” Stiles said now, patting Scott on the back. “I know. Dude, quit sniffing me, you fuzzy weirdo.”

When Stiles laughed and shoved Scott away, Derek cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You need a ride home?”

Stiles hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s an awkward car ride I’d rather avoid. No offense, buddy.”

Scott bumped his shoulder against Stiles’. “None taken. I’m dropping Allison off and going home. Call me if you want.”

When Scott walked away, Stiles fell into step next to Derek as they headed down the hall. “So. How much did _you_ hear?”

“Enough.” He glanced at the kid. “I didn’t know he had you. I didn’t know you were gone. I can’t – I would have at least sent Isaac to find you if I couldn’t do it myself.”

Stiles shrugged. “Sure. It doesn’t matter. He let me go. I was fine.”

“I would have gotten you found if I knew, Stiles. I know what – I just would have, okay?” The words weren’t coming out right. He wanted to tell the kid that he knew what happened in dark basements around certain Argents. Knew fists, electricity, more.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “I believe you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna post two today since this one's shorter than the others. Also that'll make it end on Thursday which is my birthday. So Chapter Three will be up today, too, probably pretty quick here.
> 
> Also it's 6am and I've been awake since 4 so feel completely free to point out any typos or missing words or any sort of mistake.

Derek threw the pack of peanut butter cups at Stiles. “Here.”

“Oh my god, _yes._ ” Stiles beamed and ripped the package open. “I don’t even want to know how you know I like these. I’m just going to bask in the awesomeness of unexpected candy. Hey, do you want one?”

“What?”

Stiles glanced at him. “Oh, sorry, allergy?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a dog, Stiles. I can eat chocolate.”

“I meant to peanuts. World’s most common allergy. Do werewolves have allergies? The wolfsbane thing is kind of like a really bad allergy if you think about it. Huh. Man, it’d be interesting to, like, do blood slides or something on one of you guys. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could find something that could prevent a reaction to it?”

“Give me one.” He held out a hand. “Did you take your meds today?”

Stiles dropped a peanut butter cup into Derek’s hand. “Yeah, this morning. It wears off after school and I don’t take another dose until after dinner or I forget to eat. Sorry.”

“I don’t care.” It was just… the only time he heard the kid ramble, really, was when he was lying. It was more of a tell than even his heart. But what did he have to be lying about?

Besides the fact that his only parent was in the same hospital that his mother had died in.

Derek glanced at the kid who was currently… sucking chocolate off a paper wrapper. Oh dear _Lord,_ his mouth. Derek stared at the road and methodically ate the peanut butter cup he’d been given, crumpling the wrapper and stuffing it into the cupholder. He was not going to offer the wrapper to Stiles.

He was never, ever more relieved to hear his phone ring. Sighing internally, he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“Dude, you are in a car with the Sheriff’s son,” Stiles said. “That’s totally illegal and all the cops in town know me. Are you actually trying to get arrested again?”

Derek balanced the steering wheel with his knee for a moment to make Stiles flail just because he could and answered the phone.

“Hey–” 

“Derek,” Isaac said, his voice cracking. “Can you – can you come get me? I’m at the warehouse. I – it isn’t healing. Please come get me.”

“On my way. What’s going on?”

Isaac’s breath caught on a cough. “I don’t know. There was this thing and it bit me. Derek, it isn’t healing.”

“Five more minutes. Can you hold on for a second?” When Isaac agreed, Derek pressed the mute button. “Isaac’s hurt. Do you want to ride along or am I dropping you off on the way to the warehouse?”

Stiles’ face changed, the lines of it hardening and his eyes going cold. “You know I’m in.”

Derek clenched his hands carefully on the steering wheel. “Right.”

 

 

Isaac screamed into the pillow and Stiles cursed.

“I know, man, I know,” he soothed, rubbing his left hand over Isaac’s left shoulder as his right pulled glass pieces out of Isaac's back. “Just a little bit more. We’re almost done. And wow, if my dad walked in, this would totally sound like porn.”

Isaac choked a laugh into Stiles’ pillow. “What kind of freaky ass porn do you watch, Stilinski?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that the internet is a scary, insane place when you’re doing research on things that go bump in the night.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and pressed it against the middle of Isaac’s back. “You wouldn’t believe some of things people think they want to bang.”

Stiles worked as he rambled, pulling splinters and glass from Isaac’s skin with almost alarming efficiency.

Derek leeched as much of Isaac’s pain as he could, letting his veins turn black with it until he lost his breath, and held Isaac down wherever Stiles made him put his hands.

“Okay,” Stiles said after too many minutes. “Okay, I think we’re done now. Except I don’t know what to do for this bite. It isn’t healing. Teeth look blunt, though… Isaac? The thing that you fought with, what did it look like?”

“Horse,” Isaac muttered groggily. “Giant ass horse.”

Stiles wiped the blood from Isaac’s skin, then taped bandages over wounds that weren’t healing as fast as they should be. Isaac was almost unconscious by the time Stiles returned from washing his hands in the bathroom. He tossed a blanket over a mostly-unconscious Isaac and grabbed his laptop and a bag from under his bed.

“Downstairs?” he said to Derek.

Derek followed him, ducking into the bathroom to wash the blood off his own hands. He got downstairs in time to find Stiles piling books from the bag on the kitchen table.

A second later, he pinned Stiles against the wall. “Why do you _do_ things like this?”

The kid swallowed, his cheeks flushing red. “Well, considering who shoved who against a wall yet again, I’d be tempted to ask you the same thing. What are you doing?”

Derek leaned in closer, pressing his nose to the base of Stiles’ throat. The kid smelled amazing, sweet and warm and spicy with arousal. Was _this_ what he wanted? The monster? The one who pushed him against things, the one who was aggressive and hard and not quite human?

Derek scraped his teeth over Stiles’ throat, pulling back enough to watch pale skin turn pink.

“This what you want?” he muttered, returning his mouth to Stiles’ pulse as he slid his hand underneath the bottom of a worn hoodie, under the hem of a soft T-shirt until his palm found warm skin. “Is this why you do this crap? Why do you give a shit about us?”

Stiles caught his wrist, pulling it back out from under his clothes. “No. No, that isn’t why I do it. And this isn’t how we do things.”

He pushed Derek away, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. “So giant horse narrows it down pretty well. I’m going to rule out unicorn because Isaac didn’t say anything about, you know, a horn. I’m gonna need about an hour.”

“Stiles–”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Stiles said sharply, glancing once over his shoulder. “I’d rather deal with getting Isaac better as quickly as possible. Preferably before my dad comes home tomorrow.”

Derek rubbed one hand over his face. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Somebody needs to go talk to Deaton. He might know things I won’t have access to. You can go.” Stiles shrugged. “Or you can make a pot of coffee and grab my Adderall off the top of the fridge.”

“Are you supposed to take it at night?”

“Yeah, it’s a lower dose. My doctor added it a few years ago. Otherwise I can’t focus for homework. Don’t worry. My dad’s a cop, remember? He’s suspicious by nature.” Stiles scrubbed his palm over his hair. “I get monthly lectures about the dangers of prescription medication abuse. Not to mention the worst migraines when I accidentally double dose. So what do you want to do?”

“I can stay if you want me to,” Derek said, handing Stiles a wooden basket from the top of the fridge.

“Great. You probably make better coffee than me. Black as your soul, right?” The kid grinned at him, twisting the lid off a prescription bottle. “I’m gonna send Scott over to talk to Deaton.”

Derek set a bottle of water on the table next to Stiles and went over to the coffee maker. “Probably a better idea than me anyways.”

“Yeah, kidnap somebody _one_ time…” Stiles snorted. “I’m asking Boyd and Erica to go with him. Erica’s vicious enough that she’ll get answers other people won’t, Scott will keep her from killing Deaton and Boyd thinks like you without the panic.”

Derek frowned at Stiles. “Panic?”

“Yeah. You’re not stupid, but you panic and you make really bad decisions.” Stiles picked his phone up. “You’re lucky I’m around or you’d be dead several times over.”

 

 

Stiles made a frustrated noise, scrubbing his palms over his head. “Okay, seriously, you drive a Camaro. You’re not broke, are you? Because you need a laptop.”

Derek looked up from the book he’d been flipping through. “Why do I need a laptop?”

“Because it would make my life so much easier.” Stiles rubbed long fingers against his eyes. “I have the bestiary on here, and I’m trying to cross-reference… everything… but it takes forever. And that’s not even considering figuring out what’s true or not because I lie like you wouldn’t believe when I talk to people.”

“You talk to people about this stuff?”

“Only a few that I’m pretty sure are the real deal. There’s a girl I talk to who I’m pretty sure is a banshee. Got some good info from some of them. But I split anything I tell into about fifty percent what you can find anywhere, twenty-five percent bullshit and twenty-five percent things that they should probably actually know so they don’t get killed as easily.” He shrugged. “Although I don’t spread around ways to kill werewolves, just for the record. Well, not the real ones.”

“You spend way too much time online.”

“Probably.” Stiles exhaled, tilting his head. “Ugh, my neck is killing me. How do you do that creepy neck thing anyways?”

Derek cracked his neck just to watch the face Stiles made. Sometimes Stiles’ face was like an over-expressive cartoon character. He wasn’t entirely sure most people’s faces could actually _move_ like that.

“That is so gross but probably feels amazing,” the kid said. “I’m incredibly jealous.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“So I’m pretty sure it’s a kelpie.” Stiles frowned at his laptop. “Which, if it is, it’s _really_ lost and I don’t know why it’s here. But everything I have says kelpie.”

Without thinking, Derek reached over and slipped his fingers over the back of Stiles’ neck. He rubbed gently at the tight muscles until Stiles dropped his head against his fist with a sigh. “So do I have to kill it?”

“Probably.” Stiles shrugged. “It’d be nice to try another plan first, though. I mean, it hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

“It bit Isaac, though.”

“So’d you, to be fair.”

Derek shrugged.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Dylan O'Brien's mouth. ;)
> 
> So, um, also, there's smut in this chapter which is kind of a new writing experience for me... *hides*

“This is weird,” Scott said. “We never stake out together. You always takes Stiles.”

Derek stared at him. And did Scott want him to start taking him to bring-your-kid-to-work-days too? “You’re an idiot.”

“Well, you do.” Scott glanced at Derek, then focused his gaze on the windshield. “He smells like you almost more than himself lately. And you smell like him, too.”

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He really, really needed friends his own age. “Is this the part where you tell me if I hurt him, you’ll kill me?”

“No. This is the part where I tell you that if you hurt him, I’ll leave the pack. For good. And I’ll take him with me. He’d leave if I asked him to, you know he would.” Scott’s jaw clenched as he swallowed. “He’d probably hate me for it, but it’d be what he’d need to do. The people he cares about, he cares about too much about them.”

Derek rubbed his forehead. “I’m not – I’m trying – I don’t _want_ to hurt him.”

“Stiles doesn’t do casual relationships. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “I’m starting to get that.”

“Okay.” Scott grabbed his backpack off the floor. “Stiles packed snacks. Want some Doritos?”

“Stiles packs you snacks?”

Scott threw a box of raisins at Derek. “Not just me. There’s about a pound of the beef jerky you like.”

Oh. Derek grabbed one of the bags of it out of Scott’s backpack and settled down to wait. For the giant horse. Which may or may not be green and have seaweed in its mane. Because the giant lizard person hadn’t been bad enough. At least this monster didn’t paralyze people. No, it apparently just poisoned people when it bit them. Including werewolves. Including _Isaac_ who was currently lying in the Stilinski’s guest room, feverish and not healing.

Fucking kelpies.

Scott was eating some sort of cheese-covered snack food that stunk up his entire car and Derek would forever insist that was why he didn’t smell the thing coming until it practically ran into his car – and then right past it.

“Well,” Scott said after a moment. “That was a horse.”

“No frickin’ kidding.” Derek rubbed his face. “I wasn’t expecting it to work.” Or for it to actually be a _horse._ “Great, now I get to go chase it. And you are never allowed to say that to Stiles because he’d never let me live it down. Grab Deaton’s shit and follow.”

He jerked off his jacket and jumped out of the car, then slid easily into the shift. It fit like a second skin, easier than any of the people he pretended to be, easier than pretending to be human.

And hunting made something inside him sit up and _pant_.

He stayed only half-shifted, though, running on two legs only – and not because Stiles had laughed and asked if all fours _really_ was faster. But in the woods, it was easier like this, with quick feet and claws ready whenever he needed them.

Apparently horses that lived mostly in the water didn’t enjoy the forest. He didn’t even have to use scent to track it. The thing had left a mile-wide trail behind itself. It was worse than Scott at being subtle.

He caught up to it a few minutes later. One hoof was trapped between two tree branches and it shook with panic as he crept closer.

“Whoa, hey,” he said awkwardly. “Hey, hey, hey.”

He took another step.

The kelpie shuddered, shifted, then _turned into a fucking person_ and bolted _._

“Well, hell,” Derek said.

 

 

“It turned into a person,” Stiles said, blinking owlishly.

“Yup.”

“Like a real person?”

Derek ran his fingers though his hair. “It smelled more like sea water than blood, but I don’t think it was an illusion. And, you know, werewolf. When my sister was three, she turned into a little ball of fluff every time she got overtired and upset.”

Stiles hummed, flipping through one of the books on the table. “Laura or Madeline?”

“Maddie,” Derek said quietly. “Your mom was her favourite teacher, you know.”

Stiles gave a wobbly smile. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. Oh, actually, I have something for you.” He grabbed his backpack from the floor under the table and threw it open, rifling through it. “I was looking at some of her stuff the other day and… I think it upset her, the fire.”

Okay, Derek needed to leave now. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to remember.

Stiles shook his head. “No, that’s… that’s not right. Everybody was upset. You guys left, and you were probably too numb to notice before that, but everybody was shocked and angry and sad because eight people we knew died for no _fucking_ reason.”

His voice went ragged and Derek didn’t know what to do.

“Stiles?”

The kid shook his head. “But my mom was – my mom was kind of wrecked. She didn’t really let me see it, but she talked to me about what had happened a little.” Stiles rubbed his palm over his head. “Sorry, I’m getting to the point. It’s just… you know.”

Derek nodded. He knew.

“Anyways, I was looking at some of the stuff she was looking at right before – and she had out her photo album. And I thought maybe you’d like this,” Stiles said, and set a photo on the table in front of Derek. “So I made you a copy.”

Maddie. Five years old, with both front teeth missing and the lens flare controlled like they were taught to do before they were even old enough to understand why. Derek had been thirteen and _awful_ that morning, fighting with Laura over the bathroom and driving his mother insane.

For a horrible moment, he thought he might choke up right there in the Stilinskis’ kitchen.

“Derek?” Stiles hesitated, then pressed his hand against Derek’s shoulder. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s good. Thank you.”

Normally this would be when he shook Stiles’ touch off or, more accurately, glared it away. The kid wasn’t scared of him now – practically hadn’t been from the beginning, from that first time Derek had pinned him against his bedroom door and Stiles had freaking threatened _him_ – but he usually stopped touching after a look.

And maybe sometimes Derek couldn’t help exaggerating his expressions, but it was like Stiles drew it out of him. Stiles and his stupid cartoon face that moved in ways that shouldn’t be physically possible. But it worked to make Stiles stop without throwing him halfway across a house like Peter. And it was better when Derek was in control, when he touched people instead of letting them touch him. It was better for everyone that way.

Right now, though, Derek let himself lean – just slightly – into Stiles’ touch, letting the warm hand stay firm against him.

He almost missed it when Stiles pulled away.

Stiles cleared his throat. “There were some stories about kelpies that turned human, but I thought they were mixing legends. Like somebody thought one of you guys was a horse and then somebody else thought _that_ was a cool story.”

Derek shrugged. And apparently snakes could be poisoned by their own venom.

Stiles frowned at his computer. “But if it has a human shape… I might have to break a few laws. Don’t tell my dad.”

He leaned over to check the time on Stiles’ computer and winced. “No, it’s five in the morning. You can do it tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles shook his head. “Isaac’s not getting better.”

“Stiles, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since he was bit. You and Deaton both said he had at least three days before we should panic. If you collapse of exhaustion, you’re not going to be any good for anything.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I said I’m fine. If you’re that concerned, you can make a pot of coffee. You make good coffee.”

“Thank you,” he replied and closed Stiles’ laptop, nearly catching the kid’s fingers with the lid. “Now get your ass to bed.”

“But–”

Derek stood up, pulled Stiles’ chair back and hauled the kid out of it by his arm.

“Okay, okay!” Stiles wiggled away. “For the record, I have a lot of stimulants in my system to sleep.”

He sighed. “At least lie down on the couch for a while. Watch TV or something.”

“Fine, fine.” Stiles glanced over his shoulder as he walked into the living room. “You want to stay for a while? Watch a movie or something?”

It wouldn’t hurt to stay close to Isaac, just in case. They didn’t know exactly what would happen with the kelpie bite and if it made him go feral or something, the situation could get bad very quickly.

And… Stiles smelled like exhaustion and too much caffeine, but also like laundry detergent and soap and –

“Yeah, alright,” Derek said. “I’m gonna check on Isaac first.”

The pup – _boy_ – was asleep when Derek slipped into the guest room, bitten leg supported on a pillow. Derek touched the back of his neck, squeezing lightly before running his fingers through Isaac’s sweaty curls.

Isaac slitted one eye open. “Derek.”

“Shit, sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Did you catch it?”

He swallowed, smoothing Isaac’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. “No. It turned into a person and ran away. Stiles and I are working on it. He has ideas. I’m entirely not sure I want to know them, honestly.”

Isaac gave a hoarse laugh. “Yeah… he sleeping yet? He’s been checking on me like every hour. Can’t hear him when he’s downstairs. Can’t hear much.”

“It’s just because you’re sick. You’ll go back to normal when you’re better. You’re _going_ to get better.”

Isaac’s eyes slid shut. “I know.”

“Go back to sleep,” he said again, then fixed the blankets over Isaac before leaving.

By the time he got back downstairs, Stiles was flopped on the couch with the television turned down low.

Stiles bent his knees, pulling his feet towards him. “You wanting to do the creepy wolf thing? Scott likes to pretend he doesn’t pet my head when he’s stressed. Swear to God I feel like a worry doll sometimes.”

“Why would I want to rub your head?”

“’Cause I’m fuzzy.” Stiles shook his head. “That’s just Scott’s thing. I let him do it in kindergarten the first time my mom cut it short for the summer. Stop lurking and sit down.”

“I wasn’t lurking,” Derek muttered as he dropped into the empty space Stiles had made. “I was just standing.”

Stiles grinned and sprawled his legs over Derek’s lap. “You make it lurking. Isaac doing okay?”

“Yeah. Sleeping. How about you?”

“Tired,” Stiles said and stretched, neck arching against the pillow he’d stuffed under his head. Derek forced himself to look away from the long line of throat bared, only to have his gaze catch on a pale strip of skin bared where Stiles’ shirt had ridden up with the movement.

There was a dusting of dark hair visible and Derek wondered for a moment how much hid under that shirt.

His eyes wandered down against his will, and he felt himself go still. Stiles was visibly hard behind his zipper. He jerked his eyes up to Stiles’ face. The kid grinned at him like the little snot he was, but didn’t say a word.

This was such a bad idea. Stiles didn’t want this, didn’t want him. Not in the ways he knew how to give himself now. He shouldn’t…

Fuck it. He hadn’t been a good person in a long time and it was too late to start pretending now.

Derek crawled up the length of Stiles’ body until he knelt over top of him. He took a moment to let himself breathe, inhaling the sweet scent of Stiles’ arousal. Carefully, he tugged Stiles’ too-big Henley over, letting the neckline stretch until even his shoulder was bare.

“I like your skin here,” he admitted. “It goes red so easy and you smell…”

He shook his head and bent to press his nose to Stiles’ throat, breathing deeply next to his skin. “You smell like… like…”

Him?

Derek pulled back enough to examine the shirt more closely. Sure enough, those were holes he recognized on the side.

“You kept my shirt.”

Stiles turned red. “I – it’s comfortable.”

“You kept my shirt and you wear it.” Derek gave Stiles a long look. “Do you sleep in it?”

“Sometimes.” The word was barely a whisper, but… werewolf hearing.

Stiles had washed the blood out of his shirt, washed it and worn it enough that he could barely smell himself on a shirt he’d owned for three years. Stiles had slept in it. Maybe even gotten himself off in it.

Derek cupped his hand around the back of Stiles’ head and kissed that pretty pink mouth, letting himself bite and nibble his way inside until Stiles eagerly opened up to him. Long, clever fingers twisted in Derek’s hair, holding him close. He wanted to make Stiles twist and wiggle underneath him, wanted to make him ache with need.

Then Stiles clenched his fingers in Derek’s hair and bit down on Derek’s bottom lip, chasing the small hurt with his tongue.

Derek _shuddered_. 

He pulled away, pressing his mouth to Stiles’ collarbone. The kid shivered underneath him. His fingers worried at the back of Derek’s neck, rubbing restlessly until Derek couldn’t resist biting down on Stiles’ skin.

This had been when Stiles pushed him away before, both times. Both times, he’d opened his mouth and said something stupid, and Stiles had realized who was touching him and pushed him away.

He glanced up at the kid. “You okay?”

Stiles nodded, eyes dark and his breath coming fast. “Fine. Are you?”

He nodded. He was fine.

“Okay,” Stiles said, grinning. “Good.”

Derek bent his head, sucking a bruise into the skin of Stiles’ shoulder. Little marks like that were nice. He’d leave them in places that Stiles could cover up when he wanted to, to hide from his father, to hide when he inevitably didn’t want anyone to know about this, but he wanted to leave them anyway.

Stiles shifted, one knee coming up to rub gently against Derek’s hip. “That’s nice. That’s nice, that’s real nice. Your mouth is _nice._ ”

He hid a smile against Stiles’ skin at the idea of any part of him being nice. “You should see your mouth,” he muttered, and let himself slide down Stiles’ body. “Can I… do you want me to… can I?”

“Whatever you want, man,” Stiles gasped, full-on stroking Derek’s hair now. “Anything you… oh.”

The kid’s voice went squeaky on the word when Derek pushed his shirt up, baring that thin trail of dark hair he’d seen hinted, starting right below his belly button and disappearing into his jeans.

Stiles was nicely shaped under his clothes, mostly long and lanky. He didn’t have the abs that came from werewolf genes and trying to keep busy enough to forget to think, but if Derek was being honest with himself, he couldn’t say he minded.

He left a bruise in the hollow of each of Stiles’ hips, enjoying the sharp intake of breath Stiles gasped in at the contact of his mouth there. Both times.

Derek settled a little more firmly over Stiles, weight braced on his elbows. He slid his hands up over Stiles’ hips, gliding his palms over soft, warm skin, then ran his thumb over Stiles’ zipper.

Stiles jumped, his flush spreading halfway down his chest as his heart pounded like crazy. “Oh my god.”

Derek rubbed one of the marks on Stiles’ hips. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

“I know.”

Derek nodded and opened the button of Stiles’ jeans, slowly drawing the zipper down. Stiles was fully, truly hard now, the fabric of his underwear damp and tight. Boxers, Derek thought, printed with…

“Ducks?”

“Well, I didn’t know anybody was going to be seeing them!”

He almost wanted to laugh at the indignant tone in Stiles’ voice. He didn’t mind. Really, he should have expected something like that. If this was another time, another place, another life, he might have joked with Stiles a little, made him laugh.

But the kid was shaking underneath him and every time Derek tried to joke with Stiles, it came out sounding like a threat. Maybe that part of him was broken too, but now wasn’t the time for epiphanies.

Not when he had Stiles under him, restless and needy.

Derek slid his hand into Stiles’ underwear and pulled him out. He was nicely sized, Derek noted almost absently, thick and long enough to satisfy easily. Precome slicked the head and Derek felt himself ache in his jeans at the scent of it.

“Oh my God,” Stiles gasped, clenching his fingers on Derek’s shoulder. “Oh, you have great hands.”

Derek snorted. “Thanks. You can pull my hair if you want. Won’t bother me.”

Then he bent his head and took Stiles into his mouth.

Stiles groaned. “Oh my fucking _God_ , hold me down. I don’t wanna be an asshole, but you’re – you’re amazing, you’re wonderful. You’re stronger than me. Hold me down so I don’t – so – oh, God.”

Derek might have smiled if his mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied. He pressed his hands lightly to Stiles’ hips, mostly to keep him from worrying, not really caring if Stiles pushed back against him. He sucked on the head of Stiles’ cock for a moment, swirling his tongue along the vein there and enjoying the way Stiles exhaled on a curse. Only for a moment, though. Stiles was shaking under him and he didn’t want to tease the kid into going off barely-touched.

Well. Not this time.

He let Stiles’ cock slide deeper into his mouth, letting himself get used to the stretch again before taking him as deep as he could. It’d been a while, since long before Beacon Hills, so it wasn’t as deep as he wanted, but if the way Stiles groaned was any indicator, he wasn’t complaining.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped a long few minutes later. He shifted under Derek, lifting one leg to hook his knee over Derek’s back. “You are – you are _amazing_ , you know that? You’re gorgeous and sexy and amazing and wonderful and I’m sorry, but I’m so not going to last.”

It’d been a long time, too, since anybody had said anything nice about Derek.

He lifted his head long enough to say, “That’s okay, that’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Then he wrapped his hand around the base of Stiles’ cock and sank back down, bobbing his head in an easy rhythm. He didn’t want to tease, but there was no reason to rush what he suspected was Stiles’ first blowjob, what might even be Stiles’ first time with somebody else period.

Stiles rubbed Derek’s ribs with his knee. The movement rocked his hips against Derek’s mouth and he groaned out loud.

“Sorry, come on, you can hold me down.”

Derek squeezed Stiles’ hip once before releasing him, trying to let him know he didn’t mind. Stiles ran gentle fingers over Derek’s hair and Derek wished he could tell Stiles that he really didn’t mind his hair being pulled, either. Kind of liked it sometimes, if he was honest.

But Stiles petted him gently, like Derek was the one gasping and shaking, like Derek was the one falling apart, like _Derek_ was the one arching and mumbling nonsense as he shook.

“Okay, okay, okay, I – I can’t – if you don’t want me to… Derek.”

Derek sank down a little deeper, feeling the head of Stiles’ cock hit his throat as the boy arched under him, moaning a noise that should be illegal and trembling as he came.

“Oh holy God,” Stiles groaned. “God, you’re amazing. Okay, come on, come up here. Come here.”

Derek let Stiles pull him up the couch until he was stretched out along the kid’s body. To his surprise, Stiles ran those long, clever fingers through his hair and kissed him.

It was soft and that was strange. People didn’t kiss Derek softly. He was hard, strong, rough. When people kissed him, they kissed him like how he deserved to be treated. Nobody kissed him softly like this, sucking gently at his mouth, pressing soft butterfly kisses to his bottom lip like Stiles couldn’t stand to keep from touching him.

Stiles exhaled, loud and hard, and dropped his head back against the pillow. “That was freaking awesome, dude.”

Derek bent his head, rubbing the side of his face against Stiles’ jaw. “You taste good.”

The kid laughed, sliding his hand down Derek’s side. “You’re so weird sometimes. Good thing I like weird. Hey, Derek?”

“Mm.”

Stiles swallowed audibly, then shifted enough to carefully press his leg between Derek’s, his thigh slotted right between Derek’s. “I could, um… take care of that for you, if you wanted.”

Derek shook his head. “No.”

“Are you – are you sure?” Stiles moved his hand over a little, letting one thumb slip under the hem of Derek’s shirt. “I don’t mind, really. Kind of thought about it a lot. I could – I could make you feel good.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek growled, grabbing Stiles’ hands and pinning them to the couch next to his head. That wasn’t – he didn’t _want_ that. He hadn’t wanted suck Stiles off just so Stiles would get him off, too. He didn’t need it like that, didn’t want Stiles to think he wanted it like that.

Kate did that. Kate made him feel like he owed her for having sex with him, like he had to earn the right to get off. He was never good enough for her and back then he hadn’t been able to figure it out, why she was sleeping with him, why she’d want him.

He knew why now.

“Derek?” Stiles’ wrists flexed under his hands. “Hey, let me go now, okay? Kind of tight there.”

Derek cursed and jerked away, shoving his hands against the couch. “I didn’t–”

“It’s okay.” Stiles hesitantly touched Derek’s side, lightly rubbing his ribs. “It’s okay. No means no. No always means no. I shouldn’t have pushed. You never have to do anything you don’t want to with me. Okay?”

Derek nodded. “I know how consent works.”

Stiles sighed as he reached between them to tuck himself back into his pants. “Sometimes I don’t really think you do. We’re gonna have to have a talk about that one day, you know.” When he finished fixing his pants, he squeezed Derek’s side, the touch firm and warm. “But maybe not today because you kind of blew my mind and I’m having a hard time thinking and you kind of…”

Derek held himself very still. Stiles reached up and stroked his fingers over Derek’s jaw, letting his thumb press against the corner of Derek’s mouth.

“You kind of look like you don’t want to talk about it,” he said after a long moment. “Are you staying? I’ll let you rub my head if you want.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but moved, rearranging his body and Stiles’ until Stiles was sprawled across the couch more on top of him than not.

The kid snuck a hand under Derek’s shirt, stroking his side again. “But you do know that you can say no to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, pulling Stiles a little closer. This seemed backwards. He was twenty-two year old werewolf. Stiles was the seventeen year old high school student. Shouldn’t he be the one doing the reassuring about sex?

“Good.” Stiles reached up and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. “Good, okay. That’s a start.”

Derek inhaled. “Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will go up tomorrow! (Which is my birthday, if you're wondering.)
> 
> I like the idea that Erica and Derek get to be bros once everything gets straightened out. I also like the idea that Derek hates buying clothes so he only does it like once a year, buys a ton of them, and then slowly runs out as they get destroyed by his horrible awful life.

“This is such a bad idea,” Scott muttered, chewing on a thumbnail.

Derek sighed. “It really is.”

“Does he even have a plan?”

“I think it was mostly ‘Don’t get eaten,’ honestly. Why did we let him make the plan?”

Scott snorted. “He said our plans sucked and you make bad decisions. He’s gonna get eaten, isn’t he?”

“Probably.” Derek sighed. “Okay, grab Allison and head in. Keep an eye on him, but don’t get close. I’ll find Erica and follow you in a couple minutes.”

“Why?”

“Because you and me don’t look like we’re fucking?” Derek rolled his eyes. “Just go!”

Erica laughed at him and called him overprotective, but went. And apparently it was just not his day because she got in without any problem and the bouncer took almost a full five minutes examining Derek’s driver’s license.

“Twenty-two,” he muttered inside and out of earshot. “Twenty-fricking-two. You don’t even look legal! You _look_ like jailbait.”

Erica shrugged. “Yeah, but boobs. Plus my fake ID looks more real than yours.”

He rolled his eyes. His ID was fine. It was one of the better fakes he’d had over the years. Good enough to get him work in a bar before he’d actually turned twenty-one, although the place had been somewhat shady. And it wasn’t like he could actually get a real one. Real ID meant a paper trail.

And he and Laura had been convinced that a paper trail – any kind of trail, really –  meant being found and being found meant hunters taking out the last little pieces of their family.

Derek shook his head. “You see him anywhere?”

“Dance floor,” Erica said after a minute. “Let’s grab a table before people start calling dibs on you.”

They settled into a table a good twenty feet away from Stiles. Just close enough to see him and get there in time if he needed them, but hopefully not close enough to get caught.

Stiles was talking to the kelpie. His face was open and loose and he was smiling in a way Derek almost never saw. _Flirting_ , his mind supplied. _This is what Stiles looks like when he’s flirting._

Erica kicked him. “Okay, stop looking like you’re going to go over there and maul somebody. We already have one club we can’t go to because you wolfed out.”

“That–” He blinked, looking at her. “That was looking for the kanima…”

“Yeah, and we still can’t party there, can we? Stop glaring, Derek.”

Derek sighed and looked at her. “Have I ever told you that you remind me of my sister?”

Erica smiled. “No. But thanks.”

“I’m not sure it’s a compliment,” Derek muttered, but Erica only kept grinning at him.

He glanced at Stiles over her shoulder. There was too much noise in the club to hear anything past a few feet away without overwhelming himself and hurting his ears.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be an ass to him.”

He blinked, focusing on her. “What?”

She shrugged, twisting a blonde curl around her fingers. “Stiles. He’s not a bad guy, you know. And you could use somebody in your life like him. Somebody you like.” She bit down on her bottom lip and avoided his eyes. “Sometimes you seem lonely.”

“I… yeah. I know. I’m trying.” He leaned closer and cupped a hand over the back of her neck. “Hey, don’t worry so much, okay? I’m fine.”

Erica shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He squeezed the back of her neck once more and sat back. “Now can we please try not to get murdered because we were too busy discussing our feelings?”

When Derek looked back at the dance floor, Stiles was wrapping his fingers around the kelpie’s wrist and tugging. The kelpie said something Derek couldn’t hear and Stiles laughed, pulling until the kelpie moved with him fully onto the dance floor. The kelpie was taller than Stiles by at least three or four inches, making it so the kid had to keep his head tilted up a little to meet the kelpie’s eyes. Wrapping his arms around the kelpie’s neck made Stiles stretch a little, wrists linking behind the kelpie’s neck as he swayed closer to the kelpie.

Somebody passed by the kelpie and Stiles. When they turned, Derek recognized the face. That was Jackson’s friend… what was it again? Right, Danny.

Something flashed in the corner of his vision and he looked back at Stiles just in time to see him sink a needle into the kelpie’s neck. In a flash, Derek and Scott were next to them, each grabbing one of the kelpie’s arms.

“ _That_ was your plan?” Derek said. “Seriously?”

Stiles shrugged. “It worked with Jackson and the Wonder Twins, didn’t it? Only with less of a threesome vibe.”

“We never did get around to that,” Erica said with a sigh. “Too bad.”

Scott frowned at Stiles. “You didn’t tell me Danny was going to be involved.”

Stiles shrugged. “I needed someone to hold it so he didn’t smell it on me and it had to be someone human so he wouldn’t think something was funny. You would have argued about it. So is it just me or does this guy smell like seaweed?”

 

 

Deaton injected the antidote he’d made from the kelpie’s venom into Isaac’s hip and they all watched as both the kelpie bite and the wounds still scattered along Isaac’s back knitted shut.

“Werewolf healing is awesome,” Stiles said, leaning against Derek’s arm. He was down to one shirt instead of the three he’d been wearing when they left the bar thanks to the freaking kelpie. Derek had handed over his jacket when Stiles started shivering. “How you feeling, buddy?”

Isaac stretched carefully. “Better than I have in two days. Tired, though.”

“You’ll need to get some rest and food before you’re one hundred percent,” Deaton said. “But everything seems to be healing up nicely.”

Derek touched Isaac’s shoulder. “Scott, maybe you could take Isaac home with you?” He gave Isaac’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll sleep better around pack, but your senses will be getting back to normal soon if they haven’t already and the Stilinskis’ guest room could probably use an airing and some clean sheets. No offense, Stiles.”

The kid shrugged. “None taken. Sick probably smells awful to you guys. Hospitals smell terrible already.”

They did, really. Not just the smell of sickness or injury, but the too-clean, antiseptic smell, the smell of too many medications, the scent of grief. He was a werewolf, though, he was used to smelling too much everywhere. It was just habit now to filter out the things that became too much.

Derek glanced at Stiles. Stiles’ mother had died… slowly. Maybe Stiles was too used to hospitals himself.

“Yeah,” Derek said, letting himself take Stiles’ weight against his arm a little more. It wasn’t much in the way of a comforting gesture, but it was something, he thought.

Scott stepped closer, reaching out to touch Stiles’ shoulder. “You gonna be okay? You can come home with me too if you want.”

Stiles grinned. “I’m fine, dude. One little nip and I’m all dosed up already thanks to the good doctor here. I’m honestly just gonna go home and sleep for like a million years. Go ahead, Isaac looks like he’s about to fall asleep.”

Scott nodded and looked at Derek. “Take him home, okay? Don’t let him drive.”

In the car, Stiles slumped down in the passenger seat, the energy seeming to drain out of him. “Your jeans are ruined. You’re gonna need to buy another pair eventually, you realize."

Derek sighed. “Yeah. Too bad. I liked this pair. I’m running out of ones that still fit right.”

“’Cause you got bigger when you levelled up?” Stiles mumbled. “None of my shirts would fit you now. Your biceps are like the size of my head.”

He snorted. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say. God, I’m gonna have to go shopping.”

“You could take me,” Stiles said, his eyes shut as he practically snuggled into Derek’s jacket. “I’d try to convince you to wear colours and you’d snap at me when you got sick of being around people and then we’d probably buy practically the exact same clothes you already have.” Stiles sighed. “Only I’d make sure your shirts were soft because you deserve nice things sometimes. And I’d stare at your ass when you tried on jeans. You have a nice ass.”

“Figured you thought so when you slapped it.”

Stiles’ eyes flew opened. “What?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What, you thought I didn’t notice? When we were paralyzed. You also groped my crotch.”

“I was paralyzed and not in control of my limbs!”

“Sure you just weren’t getting handsy?”

“You’re so weird when you joke,” Stiles said, but he was grinning and when Derek pulled into the Stinlinski’s driveway, he rubbed his head and said, “My dad’s back at work. Desk duty til one. Do you wanna come in?”

“You want me to?”

“Yeah.” The kid smiled at him, sleepy and soft. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Nice was what he wanted?

Derek forced himself to smile, wide with teeth showing. People liked it when he smiled. “I can be nice.”

Stiles went straight for the fridge, taking out a half-gallon of milk and chugging it for longer than he really should have been able to do without breathing.

“That’s kind of disgusting,” Derek muttered.

The kid stuck his tongue out at him. “You’re disgusting.”

Derek stepped closer, taking the milk from Stiles. “You’re going to make yourself sick. I don’t know how the kelpie bite will react with a human immune system. If you’re still hungry in a couple hours, I’ll make you something.”

The corner of Stiles’ cupid’s bow mouth crooked up. “You wanna cook for me?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He slid a hand along the back of Stiles’ neck, slipping it under his jacket and the many shirts underneath until Stiles’ collarbone was warm under his palm. Then he made himself smile again. “And if you ask real nice, I might even rub your back if you want me to.”

Stiles exhaled in a rush and grabbed Derek by the front of his shirt. “Sweet Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me. Get over here.”

Derek went easily, sliding his hands along Stiles’ face and tilting his face up that last inch before kissing him. He made it soft, slow, and as sweet as he knew how. Nice. He could be nice. Treat the boy like he deserved to be treated for once.

Stiles pulled away. “Wait, wait. What are you doing?”

“Kissing you?” Derek touched his thumb to Stiles’ bottom lip. “Did you not notice or something?”

“No.” Stiles frowned. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

The kid pulled away completely, taking a couple steps back. “That thing where you’re not into it and I’m eventually left wondering how much I forced you to do and feeling like I need to take a three-day long shower.”

“No, that’s not – Stiles, you don’t make me do anything.”

“Really?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “Because right now it feels like you only touch me because I want you to.            Do you – God. Okay. Sit your wolfy ass down. We’re going to talk about this like adults.”

Derek let Stiles shove him into a kitchen chair. Stiles dropped a bottle of water in front of him like it was old habit, then sat in the chair next to him.

“Okay.” Stiles ran his hands over his head. “What was the first sex talk you had with your dad? Not the how stuff works talk, the real one.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably in the chair, letting himself pick at the label of the bottle. “Uh. About being careful that to keep control and not shift, that you have to be careful with humans because you can hurt them, that, no, the internet was very, very wrong and I didn’t have to worry about anything weird happening with my junk.”

Stiles laughed out loud at that. “Good to know. You know what the first talk I had with my dad was?”

Derek shrugged.

“Mom handled the birth control and disease and don’t get anybody pregnant part. Dad and I talked about consent. A lot, actually,” Stiles says. “The first time I came home saying I wanted to kiss Lydia, my dad and I went for a drive and he told me that unless she told me she wanted me to, it wasn’t okay to kiss her.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what Stiles wanted him to say, who he was supposed to be right now.

“My dad used to work in the city before I was born, you know. He’s been a cop for a long time.” Stiles fiddles with the drawstring of the hoodie he still has on under Derek’s jacket. “Dad took me for a drive once after Mom did the other talk and we talked how you can hurt somebody with sex. He said no is no and nothing but an enthusiastic yes is a yes and that I would never owe anybody sex and nobody would ever owe me it, either.”

Derek pulled pieces of damp paper label off the bottle in his hands. “My parents talked about that kind of thing, too. Especially with humans because we can – we’re stronger. But they talked about pack hierarchy, too. Said that somebody being higher up in the pack than us didn’t mean they got to make us have sex with them, not even our Alpha.” He shook his head. “Why are _we_ talking about this?”

Stiles’ eyes dropped to his hands. “You… every time you touch me, you have to pretend to be somebody else. Last night you seemed like you when you – but then just now, you put on that smile you do when you need somebody to do something for you and… do you even want me, Derek?”

Derek leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the back of the kid’s neck. “I – you never want what I think you do. I keep trying to be what you want and I never get it right. I thought you wanted me to owe you, I thought you wanted the monster in your closet, I thought you wanted _nice_. And I was always wrong.”

“I just want you, you idiot.” Stiles sighed. “My head is killing me. Is that a kelpie bite thing? Also can we talk about how weird it was that dude took a chunk out of my arm when he was completely human? Because it was weird.”

Derek rubbed the soft skin behind Stiles’ ear. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” Stiles leaned into the touch. “We’re gonna need to talk about this more soon, you know. But I think I’m gonna fall asleep in about five minutes whether I’m lying down or standing. Do you still want to stay? You can take a shower if you want and steal some of my clothes that won’t fit.”

“If you want me to.”

“Derek.” Stiles frowned. “Do you want to stay?”

He took a slow breath, his thumb moving against Stiles’ skin. “Yeah. I’d like to.”

“Okay.”

 

 

He’d made Stiles shower first. If Isaac’s progress was anything to go by, he’d probably feel like crap in a few hours anyways, but at least he’d feel better for a little while. Plus he’d smelled wrong, like strangers and alcohol and lust that wasn’t his.

The kid was sprawled across his bed when Derek came back into his room, looking like he was trying to take up as much space as possible, facedown in the pillow.

Derek touched his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Like somebody hit me with a truck,” Stiles muttered into the pillow. “You gonna lie down or are you just gonna stand there and glare at my spine all night?”

He dropped his hand to his side. “You – in bed with you?”

Stiles went still, turning to look at him after a long moment. “I – I assumed. No, I’m an idiot, you don’t have to sleep here. The guest room probably smells weird but the couch downstairs folds out. I’ll grab some sheets for it – or I can sleep on it. It was just – you know, werewolf. You–”

Derek sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t think you’d want me to. Shove over, then.”

He turned off the light on the headboard above Stiles’ bed and slid down between the sheets. For a few minutes, he let Stiles squirm around until the kid’s heart kicked up in distress.

Then he caught Stiles around the waist and pulled him in close, back against Derek’s chest. “Better?”

Stiles relaxed against him, exhaling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Derek settled in a little closer against his back, tucking his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck. He smelled sweet with soap now, the only smells on him the ones that were supposed to be there. Himself, the traces of Scott and his father that had soaked into his house, his skin. Derek.

“I don’t know how to want things anymore,” Derek said quietly. “I stopped letting myself want after the fire.”

Stiles reached back and squeezed Derek’s hip.

“Kate – she didn’t want me. I mean, I know she didn’t now, but even then, I was never good enough for her.” Derek rubbed his nose against Stiles’ skin. “I was stupid and–”

“You were fifteen fucking years old, Derek,” Stiles interrupted. “Fifteen year old boys are supposed to be stupid and think with their dicks. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

He took a slow inhale of Stiles’ scent. “I – she used to make me feel like I had to perform with her. Like the Derek Hale who was on the high school baseball team and sat on the bench because he couldn’t show off and wanted nothing more than to get his license so he could drive his older sister’s cool car wasn’t what she wanted. Like I had to pretend to be someone else for her to want me.”

“Don’t have to pretend with me,” Stiles mumbled, half asleep. “Just be you. Be grumpy or sarcastic or quiet or brooding or whatever you want to be. I don’t need you to pretend to be anything. Just be you.”

Nobody had wanted Derek to be Derek for a long time.

“I’m trying,” he said finally. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is be a kelpie http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelpie if you're having a moment of confusion about what's going on.
> 
> Oh and the joke about Stiles groping Derek comes from this http://barlowstreet.tumblr.com/post/65038079134/chantelle82-colethewolf Also someone should give Hoechlin a reward for having absolutely no reaction to that XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're done! Last chapter. Apparently I like to end things with Stiles being hurt and him and Derek in bed... whoops.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this thing!
> 
> ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY SO.

Holy mother of _fuck_ it was hot.

Derek groped around for the covers – sometimes when pack members slept together, they’d overheat from werewolf body heat and somebody would end up with all the covers and it was usually him – but he found only a burning hot body.

“Stiles?”

When a low whimper was his only reply, Derek reached up and turned the light on.

Stiles _moaned_ and shoved his face into Derek’s shoulder. “ _No_.”

“Stiles.” Derek touched the back of his neck, bending over him to inhale. He didn’t smell sweat at all, but the kid burned hotter than him – and he was a werewolf. Stiles shouldn’t be warmer than him. And he was shaking like he was falling apart. “Come on, hey, look at me.”

“No, h-h-headache,” Stiles stuttered, shaking too hard to speak clearly. “H-hurts. C-cold, h-hold me t-tighter.”

“You’re not cold… you’re burning up. Is this the kelpie bite? I know, Deaton said it’d be like a bad flu or cold, but you’re… Stiles,” he said, not knowing what else to say. What was he supposed to do?

“I’m f-fine, I’m fine. Just c-c-cold.”

He pulled the kid closer, feeling useless. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, tugging blankets over Stiles. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“N-no. Of c-c-course not.”

For a long moment, Derek listened to heartbeats. Then he made a decision and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ burning forehead without really thinking about it. “Okay, stay here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

It was one of the dumber ideas he’d had lately and he was probably going to be picking bullets out of himself later – and damn it, he hated that – but he didn’t know what else to do.

He crouched down next to the bed and touched the Sheriff’s shoulder. “Sheriff?”

The man came awake almost immediately, jerking upright. “S’what the matter?” He shook his head. “Hale? Oh, God, Stiles–”

“He’s in his room,” Derek interrupted. “Everybody else is safe at home and Isaac’s better. We found the kelpie and Deaton made an antidote.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack.” The Sheriff frowned. “What’s wrong? What _happened_?”

“Stiles – he got bit by the kelpie. Deaton gave him the antidote, but he said that it’d be like he had the flu or a cold.” Derek swallowed, a lump in his throat nearly choking him. “He’s burning hot, but he’s shivering and he’s not sweating. And he says his head hurts. I don’t – I don’t know what to do.”

The Sheriff’s heartbeat dropped from a race down to an almost normal pace. “Oh. God. Yeah. He gets fevers when he’s sick. They don’t last more than a couple hours. I’ll check on him.”

Derek nodded, the tightness in his chest easing. “Okay.”

The Sheriff squinted at him through the darkness. “You’re in pajamas.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “I wasn’t – we weren’t – he’s _sick_ , I wouldn’t.”

“No, I get that. But you were sleeping here, weren’t you? And you woke me up at four in the morning because my underage son had a fever and you were worried.” The Sheriff pressed his hand against Derek’s shoulder. “Are _you_ alright?”

Derek huffed a breath. “I don’t know.”

The Sheriff squeezed Derek’s shoulder. “I think you will be this time, son.”

When he stood up, Derek frowned at the floor for a few seconds before following him to Stiles room. He stopped at the doorway and watched the Sheriff sit on the edge of Stiles’ bed.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Sheriff said. “Heard you’re not feeling good.”

Stiles covered his face with his arm and tried to burrow deeper under the blankets. “Ev’rythin’ hurts.”

“Nyquil hurts or hospital with pneumonia hurts?”

“N-nyquil.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Derek moved out of the way when the Sheriff passed him. “Has that happened? Does he need to go?”

The Sheriff ran his hand through his hair. “Once when he was fourteen. But he’s not coughing or anything. Do his lungs sound weird when he breathes?”

Derek shook his head.

“I’m f-fine,” Stiles said from the bed, then groaned. “Drugs please.”

Stiles called the crap his father brought back from the kitchen “Cherry-flavoured liquid death” and made a face at the taste, but he sat still for the thermometer the Sheriff insisted on using.

“Jesus Christ, kid, 104?” The Sheriff set the thermometer on the headboard. “You can’t ever get sick like a normal person, can you?”

“T-talent.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want to move downstairs?”

Stiles nodded.

“Okay. I’ll get everything set up for you.” He rubbed Stiles’ head. “If you’re still sick tomorrow, I’ll go buy that soup you like.”

When the Sheriff reached the bottom of the stairs, Derek sat down in his place.

Stiles pushed himself on his elbow. “Hey, d-do you.”

“ _What_?”

The kid grinned. Shook as he reached up and grabbed the thermometer, but grinned. “T-take yours. Ear. M-my d-d-dad says I chew on the n-normal ones too much and he’s s-scared I’m going to eat mer-mer-mercury.”

“You would,” Derek said, looking down at the thing in his hand. “What do I do?”

Stiles pointed at the button. “P-put it in and p-push it.”

Derek choked. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

Stiles gave a shaky – shaking – laugh. “L-little bit,” he said and curled closer to Derek, dropping his head in Derek’s lap. “N-never seen you be n-nervous.”

With a shrug, Derek took his temperature, absently running a hand over Stiles’ hair until it beeped, then handed it over. “101. That’s about normal for me. You’re still shaking. You don’t get sick a lot, do you?”

Stiles snorted. “N-no.”

“Good.” He didn’t think he could handle this if was a regular occurrence.

When Stiles was set up on the pull-out couch downstairs, the Sheriff nodded at the kitchen. Derek nodded, reaching for pockets he didn’t have out of habit. This was the part where he got shot or kicked out.

The Sheriff leaned against the kitchen counter. “There are a couple of washcloths in a bowl on the table. I don’t know if it actually helps with the fever but they make him feel better. Just use cool water, not cold or warm. There’s a bucket next to the couch just in case, but the Nyquil will probably knock him out pretty quick here. There’s stuff for when he wakes up if he needs it, but not less than eight hours apart and talk him down to half doses if he feels up to it.”

“What?”

“Do you want to leave?”

“Sheriff–”

“John. How about I call you Derek and you call me John.”

It wasn’t a question. Derek swallowed. “John… am I allowed to stay?”

John sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and my kid, but I trust his judgement in people. Especially now that I know you’re not trying to kill him. If you want to stay, you can stay. If you want to leave, you can leave.”

He seemed to remember having this conversation once already tonight.

“I want to stay.” He swallowed. “But he’s broken and I don’t what to do.”

John laughed, reaching over to squeeze Derek’s shoulder again. “He’s not broken. Haven’t you been around sick humans before?”

“Not since I was fifteen.”

“This is pretty much normal for Stiles,” John said. “But he only gets sick once or twice a year. Do _you_ want me to stay downstairs for a while?”

Kind of. “No.”

“Okay. Then why don’t you keep my kid company until he passes out?” John frowned at him. “And get some damn sleep yourself. I’m going to call Stiles in sick to school in the morning. When he wakes up, I’ll make you both breakfast if you’re still here.”

Derek nodded. “I – yeah. I’ll be here.”

The Sheriff – John – leaned over the lump of Stiles’ on the pull-out couch in the living room, pushing back the covers to find his son’s face. “I’m gonna head upstairs, okay?”

Stiles leaned up to hug one arm around his father’s neck. “Okay. Th-thanks.”

“Get some sleep so you feel better,” he said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When he was certain the Sheriff was upstairs, Derek lay down on the mattress behind Stiles, then frowned at the television. “This was retro when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, ’c-cause you’re only like five years older than me, dumbass.” Stiles shivered and slid backwards closer to Derek. “Cartoons don’t g-give me nightmares. Other stuff does when I h-have a f-fever.”

Derek shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.” He grabbed one of the washcloths off the table next to the couch, squeezed the excess water from it, and set it carefully against the back of Stiles’ neck. “How different is seventeen from fifteen?”

“You planning on burning down my house and killing my father?”

“ _No._ ”

“D-different, then, huh?” Stiles sighed, tilting his head forwards. “That’s n-nice, thanks. You’re not Kate Argent, D-Derek, okay?”

“You compared me to her once.”

Stiles rolled over, slowly. Derek frowned, then reached over and replaced the damp cloth on Stiles’ neck.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that.” Stiles touched the exposed ridge of Derek’s collarbone where the too-big neck of the T-shirt bared it. “Sometimes I say th-things without thinking about them en-nough. Don’t guilt trip about this, dude. My head hurts too much to be smart.”

Derek huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Smart-ass. Your dad offered to make me breakfast in the morning. I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be threatening to shoot me.”

Stiles shrugged. “D-don’t ask me. I don’t g-get it, either. Pr-probably he thinks a fuck b-buddy wouldn’t wake him up in the m-middle of the night ’c-cause I was sick. Are we more than fuck buddies?”

“Please stop saying those words.” Derek leaned close and pressed his lips against Stiles’ forehead. “I’m not good at this.”

Stiles shivered once, less violently than earlier. “Yeah, I’m getting that. S’okay, n-neither am I. Wanna give it a try anyway?”

He cupped the side of Stiles’ face, rubbing one thumb over the kid’s eyebrow. Stiles was never going to be able to fix him. He’d probably never want to try even if he could.

Derek leaned in close and kissed the prettiest pink mouth he’d ever seen. He didn’t think he wanted Stiles to, either. He’d fix himself one day, maybe, or at least he’d work on it, and he’d probably end up falling in love with the kid. Was probably already on his way there, if he was being honest with himself. Eventually, he’d have to stop thinking of him as the kid before it got creepy and weird in his head.

Creepier. Weirder.

At least Stiles liked creepy and weird.

“Yeah,” he said when he pulled back. “I want to.”


End file.
